


you stand so tall, you don't frighten me at all

by SmittyJaws



Series: you're my best friend [3]
Category: Queen (Band)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Asexual Character, Asexual Relationship, F/M, Heavy Angst, SO MUCH GODDAMN ANGST WHAT HAVE I DONE, ace!Deaky, ace!reader, the band barely shows up in this one sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-07
Updated: 2019-02-07
Packaged: 2019-10-23 17:38:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,413
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17687930
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SmittyJaws/pseuds/SmittyJaws
Summary: Storms are brewing with your parents; can you and John weather them?





	you stand so tall, you don't frighten me at all

**Author's Note:**

> As always, I want to thank: @glamrockmonarch for her kickass headcanons, and @brian-may-likes-dust for putting up with all my agonizing over this fic as I wrote it/live-texted her my updates to the fic xD you’re stellar, and I love you both 💜💜💜
> 
> Very slight AU, mostly in that this story assumes asexuality is more visible/discussed in the 70s (still stigmatized much like any deviation from “standard” heterosexual relationships though), but otherwise not much else is different aside from my lapses in memory regarding other historical information. Fic title is taken from the lyrics to Back Chat.
> 
> Also, given that asexuality is a spectrum, and this character is directly based off my own experiences being ace, I know not everyone may identify with this ace character. With that said, though, I hope people enjoy my ace fics! :)
> 
> \--
> 
> (On another note... in the words of Brooklyn Nine-Nine: I catharted hard with this fic, and it turned out a lot longer and a lot angstier than I even thought it would be.
> 
> ...whoops?)

You’ve never gotten along well with your parents.

Well, a more accurate way to put it would be that you haven’t gotten along well with them for a few years now; not since you told them you were ace. You’d lived a happy enough childhood, watching over your younger brothers when needed, growing up responsible and polite the way they wanted. The moment you stopped living the way they expected, though... things were a little strained. 

It had started when you told them that you had decided to study History when you went to uni, as it had always been a passion of yours. Your parents disapproved of the decision, never outright forbidding you from studying it, but there were always remarks from your mother (apparently your father chose to express his displeasure to your mother when you weren’t around, who then passed on the message to you the next time she wanted to discuss the matter) about why you hadn’t chosen a more practical field of study, and when would you get over this phase as you couldn’t really find jobs with a History degree. 

The second and final straw was when you came out to them. You had been nervous about how they might take it, but wanted to be honest with them in case conversations of grandchildren came up (which you were sure they would, being the only daughter). Your father said nothing, but your mother immediately frowned and said “Don’t be ridiculous, dear! You can’t be asexual; you’re not a plant!” 

Outwardly you’d maintained a straight face while your mother went on to describe how all you needed was good enough sex and you’d surely change your mind, and that God intended for men and women to have sex, not to be celibate. Inwardly your heart was breaking; you knew it had been a bit of a long shot, but you had held out hope that they might have understood. Clearly you were wrong, and you moved out soon after with the excuse of being closer to uni; unable to face them on a regular basis while your mother continued to remind you that she was praying for you. 

——

You still keep in contact for birthdays and holidays and try not to be too estranged from the rest of your brothers, but there’s an invisible barrier that keeps you from fully opening up anymore. This doesn’t get any better when you hear one of your brothers say that he thinks aces must be doing it for attention; they just want to feel special and “different”. You want to give him a good shake, but that would tip your hand and reveal how hurt you are by your family’s behaviour towards your lifestyle, and besides he’s bigger than you. 

When you tell them you’re seeing people, your mother perks up at first, but those relationships never last and the disappointment is palpable. When you tell them about John, you actually feel for a moment like you’re in some alternate universe where your parents don’t treat you differently and you can have a normal conversation. Your mother gushes when you tell him he’s studying electrical engineering (even though you do notice the subtle dig at the usefulness of his degree versus yours), and gives the right amount of disapproving frown when you tell her that John plays in a band. It really almost feels normal; they think highly of him and want to meet him to make sure he’ll treat you right, and frown a little when you explain the dates that he won’t be available due to concerts.

Your mother approves of the fact that you’re not “living together in sin like so many young people these days”, and you try not to think too hard about that statement and just enjoy the lack of judgement about yourself for once. It’s nice to feel nervous about the potential of introducing them to a new boyfriend, instead of the usual nervousness that’s induced by their subtle (and sometimes un-subtle) digs at you. 

Of course, this brings up a new set of problems - your mother assumes John’s straight. She just assumes the fact that neither of you do anything sexual beyond holding hands and the occasional kiss is because you’re being “the good Christian girl she raised you to be”. (You don’t even go near the fact that you and John spend most nights together and that you’re planning on moving in with him in the next few months when your lease is up, figuring some things are better left unsaid.) She asks when you’ll bring him around so they can finally meet him; the man who’s clearly making an impression on your life. You always tend to fumble around that answer, making excuse after excuse to not bring him there and subject him to your family’s/mother’s judgement. 

After a while of this song and dance, you’re pretty certain that your mother would be convinced that John is a figment of your imagination if it weren’t for the photo of you two that you carry in your wallet. 

——

And then there’s the questions on the other end: John would like to know when he can meet your family. You don’t talk a lot about your more recent years before you moved out, but you do share pleasant childhood memories with him, and he knows he’d like to meet them all; your parents and brothers. You don’t want to burst his bubble about what he thinks your family is like, as it sounds like he shares a very good relationship with his own, so you do the same thing you do for your parents - make excuses.

_“Sorry, they scheduled it on one of your exam dates.”_

_“Sorry, we’re meeting this weekend and I know you have concerts. Please apologize to Freddie for me; God knows the ones I already gave him weren’t enough.”_

_“Sorry, they sprung this on me last minute and I didn’t think you were available so I said you weren’t coming.”_

You can tell that the excuses are wearing a bit thin, though, as John seems to look more and more aggravated each time you fob him off with these weak reasons (because you know he would reschedule things if possible if you asked him to; because you know he would gladly give you a list of dates that would/wouldn’t work for him to try and arrange this) and although it takes a lot to make John get truly angry over something, one day he finally just snaps. 

——

You’ve just given him another (admittedly pitiful) excuse for why you’ll be going alone to see your family this weekend, and John has finally had it. He stands up abruptly from where you’ve both been sitting at the kitchen table and starts pacing the floor. He doesn’t yell; he never raises his voice when he’s angry, and somehow that makes it all the worse. You can’t look at him and focus on a scratch on the surface of the table as he starts to rant: “Oh, perfect! Go over there ON YOUR OWN, don’t even mention me - YOUR BOYFRIEND - to your parents, but tell me, what do you plan on doing when we get married, or when we have kids?”

At that, your head snaps up, and you have to replay his words in your head for a moment to yourself before they fully register. Then it hits you like a lorry on the A1: he wants to marry you, which makes you more ecstatic than you knew was possible...but he also brought up children, and now you’re sure you’re having a miniature panic attack. You’ve never had a discussion about children; the possibility of having your own in the future. You know John is open to sex for the intimacy aspect (and now, it seems, for the procreation aspect as well), but the idea has always made you relatively uncomfortable so you don’t try to think about it. You’re so caught in your whirling thoughts that you almost don’t realize that he’s still waiting on an answer, but when you try to form a coherent sentence, all you can say is: “When we what? John, I’m not... do you realize what that means?”

The words are sinking in now, and all you can think of is the absolute terror they’ve left behind. You’re trying not to hyperventilate, but you can tell your breathing has sped up and your shoulders are tense. You’re trying to hold it together, because the last thing you want to do is make John feel guilty for inducing a panic attack you didn’t know would happen (you don’t even get panic attacks, for God’s sake!). John has noticed, though, and he stops pacing the floor to face you, shoulders slumping slightly as he realizes what he’s said to cause this. “I know,” he says softly, the fire having left his tone of voice, but the pain still very present in his eyes. “I know... but seriously, what then? What when I ask you to marry me? Are you still gonna be too ashamed to introduce me to your family?” He’s trying to understand; you’ve never given him a (real) reason as to why you don’t want to talk about them or have him meet them, and all he can think is that he must have failed you in some way. 

For some reason, hearing him try to sidestep the hurt he’s just caused you, and realizing that his biggest fear is that you’re ashamed of him (and you haven’t done much to allay that fear by putting him off visiting with no explanation) just sets you off and makes a lump of self-loathing that you haven’t felt in a while rise in your throat. You’re finding it hard to speak, but you somehow choke out: “Oh, don’t change the subject! God knows I love you, but I will not sleep with you! I thought you understood!” You’re hurting more than you thought it was possible to: angry at John, angry at yourself, angry at your parents, angry at this situation, and you’re lashing out at the nearest target. 

There are tears in your eyes now as you stand to face John, feeling incredibly upset at him for being insensitive and suggesting something like that when he knows you aren’t comfortable with it; bringing it up like it’s a certainty and it’ll inevitably happen. You feel trapped right now, and everything you thought you knew about your relationship seems to be crumbling in front of you. You decide that you need to leave the flat right away before things get much worse, as you’re already breaking down and you don’t want John’s attempts at comfort right now; not when he’s the source of your pain. A vindictive part of you wants to see him hurt the way he’s made you hurt, so you meet his eyes and can’t resist one final barb to hit him where you know it’ll do the most damage: “It seems you and I are _not_ the same, John. Maybe we don’t know each other as well as we thought.”

John’s head lowers slightly at that, and you think you catch a glimpse of a tell-tale sheen of tears in his own eyes, but you don’t dwell on it for too long as you quickly grab some things for yourself. John makes no effort to stop you as you grab a jacket and practically bolt out the door of your own flat, slamming it shut behind you. You can’t be around him right now, and you’re not sure if you want to be around him in the future. A small part of your mind knows that rationally things will get better given time, but you’re hurting _now_ and you don’t know what to do with yourself, with your relationship; with anything. 

——

You end up heading to your friend Mich’s flat, and she’s kind enough to let you spend the night and loans you her sofa to sleep on. You’re pretty sure John will have gone back to his own flat tonight after recording is finished, but you don’t want to take that risk that he’ll have gone to yours because you can’t stand to see him right now. 

Mich’s sofa is in far better condition than your own, but somehow you can’t seem to get comfortable enough to sleep and instead lie awake tossing and turning for most of the night. You can’t stop thinking about the conversation you’d had earlier, and how the tenuous peace you’d had leading up to the fight wasn’t really a peace if John was that bothered about not seeing your family. You feel terrible for causing him to feel like you’re ashamed to bring him to meet them. He’d made a cutting remark about you not even telling your family about him, but you just don’t want to make him feel guilty that your parents love the idea of him... as a direct comparison to the way they feel about you. And you know that if you tell John that you do talk about him and that your parents are happy about the fact that you’re going out, he’ll be able to sense the unspoken _but_ in that sentence and you won’t be able to hide the ugly truth from him. John doesn’t deserve that weight on his shoulders, so you figure it’s better to say nothing at all. 

You hate that your mother and your family’s opinions have once again dragged you down and made you angry at yourself; you’d hoped that you’d been able to leave that kind of self-loathing behind when you’d moved out. Apparently it’s inescapable, though, because the thought of willingly taking John to meet your family has got you trapped in that never-ending spiral of _she’ll criticize my schooling, she’ll criticize my (lack of) sexuality, why can’t I just be ‘normal’, why can’t my family just love me the way I am and accept it_ , and so on. 

And then there’s the things John had said to you as well, adding to your knot of mixed feelings trapped deep in your gut. _He said he wanted to marry you!_ You’re not entirely surprised by this declaration, given how close you are ( **were** , your brain supplies, sabotaging any good mood you might have felt at that thought), and you know that you feel the same way about him. But then your mind goes to the other statement he’d made about children, and the nauseous feeling you’d gotten earlier comes back with a vengeance. On one hand, you know that John would make a wonderful father and you can easily picture him with a young one or several; teaching them about music, helping them learn to tie shoelaces, attending school events and being utterly wrapped around their fingers. On the other hand, the idea of having children makes you tense up. Sex upsets you, pregnancy terrifies you, and being the oldest child in your family, you’ve changed enough dirty diapers and played babysitter enough times to last a lifetime.

Alright, maybe the last reason isn’t a completely valid reason to not have children, but even without that, you’re not sure that you could do that for him. God help you, you love the idea of sharing a home with John and having a family with him, but you have a severe issue with the process that usually goes along with this and you’re not sure you can get over that. You’re still a bit hurt that he would bring it up so casually as if it was something inevitable (which, come to think of it, is always what hurts the most about your mother’s comments about you - the idea of people making these assertions that you’ll “change your mind”, that you’ll “get over things”, and “just you wait” with their little patronizing smiles, as if they know your mind so much better than you and you have no say in the matter).

That said, John has always been so understanding and respectful of you up until now, and you don’t want to throw that all away. You’re cursing as you think back on the conversation and how hurt you both had clearly been, and how you might not actually mind a future like that with John. You muffle your curses and low-volume yells of frustration into a pillow to avoid waking up Mich due to the ungodly hour, and decide that you need to sit down and have a chat with John to clear the air. 

——

The next morning arrives and you definitely haven’t gotten enough sleep, but that can’t be helped now. You leave a note thanking Mich for her hospitality and trudge back to your flat, dreading what you’ll have to go through today.  
As expected, the flat is empty when you arrive, but John has still left one window cracked open, and Patches has crept inside to sleep in a sunbeam. The sight of the fat cat curled up in a ball and snoring contentedly makes you tear up again. Even when you’re fighting, John is still being thoughtful - he knows how important it is to you to leave at least one window open for the neighbours’ cats to visit. 

Thankfully you don’t work until noon, and you’re able to keep from breaking down fully and pull yourself together before you (unsuccessfully) try to get a little more sleep. When that fails, you make yourself the strongest coffee you can in order to keep from passing out at an inopportune time during your shift. You almost wish you could spike it with something stronger, but you wouldn’t be able to get through your shift at the museum, and besides, you feel that you owe it to John to face him while sober. 

The day both speeds along and crawls simultaneously, and soon the museum is closed and you’re off work. You know John won’t chase you down and will wait for you to approach him when you’re ready, so you know it’s all on you to make the first move here. You’re feeling the pangs of nausea again at the thought of having to confront him, but at this point you don’t know how much of it is due to stress, how much to your lack of sleep, and how much to the excessive amount of coffee you’ve thrown back today. 

You drag out the trip to the band’s rehearsal space, deliberately driving slower than usual to put off having to see John. When you arrive, you sit in the car for a good 10 minutes just lightly banging your head against the steering wheel in frustration. Why can’t this be easier? Why does it have to be so difficult to approach John, someone you’ve never had this problem with? Eventually you check your watch and realize you’d better head in if you want to catch John before he leaves. You take a deep breath of the evening air after leaving the car, trying to bolster your confidence to head in. 

As it turns out, though, the band is actually just on their way out, and you can hear Roger and Freddie making ribald jokes while Brian scolds them (for the volume level of their voices, though, not the subject matter). John is trailing slightly behind as he walks with Brian, but not involving himself in the matter. Just then, Freddie sees you and immediately runs over to give you a bone-crushing hug as though he hasn’t seen you in three years instead of three days. “Darling, you missed out on the most entertaining rehearsal!” He’s about to launch into some fantastic tale when he notices the state of your face, and notes that the raccoon eye look is not in fashion at this moment. You offer a weak smile at that, and tell him a half-truth, as you don’t want to get into it here with him (especially not before you have a chance to talk to John). “Just didn’t sleep well, Fred. I’m sure I’ll be alright tomorrow.”

He gives you a Look at that one, but doesn’t pry. You know he’ll be asking you later about what the real problem is, and you’re touched by his concern. He gives you another gentler hug, then walks back to where the others are standing near the van chatting and Roger is chain-smoking. You can see John watching you as you wait near your car, not feeling right about joining the group in your state. He hasn’t made any kind of move to leave or to approach you, but Freddie leans over and whispers something in his ear, and that apparently does the trick as he turns to the others to wish them a goodnight, picks up his gear, and walks over to where your car is parked.

You wordlessly open the door of the car so John can place his amp and guitar on the backseat, then head back to the driver’s seat. You break the silence briefly to murmur “Mine or yours?”, to which John says it doesn’t particularly matter before you both lapse back into a not-particularly-comfortable silence. You decide to go with his, as you know he has classes tomorrow, and besides, the initial fight happened at your flat, so it only seems fitting that your attempt at resolution should take place at his. Besides, this way if it goes badly, then you can leave and drive back to your flat, rather than force him to walk home if he doesn’t want to stay at yours. 

——

When you arrive at John’s flat, you almost don’t feel right just following him inside, as if things were normal. But he tilts his head to gesture you in, so you know he wants you there (at least for now). When you get inside, he offers you a seat while he puts his things away, but you’re too tense to take it, so you just opt to stand in the middle of his sitting room, examining cracks in the paint on the wall. Sooner than you had expected, John returns, and the two of you just stand there for a moment awkwardly watching each other. 

Looking more closely at John, you can see that he looks as exhausted and unhappy as you do, and while a small bitter part of you is glad to know that you’re not the only one affected by this, most of you feels terrible that you’ve caused him to feel this way. You break his gaze and look back at your shoes, unable to keep meeting his eyes. You decide to just rip off the proverbial plaster and get it over with or neither of you will talk at all, just standing here trapped in an uncomfortable limbo. You open your mouth to apologize, but the voice that says “I’m sorry” first isn’t yours. 

You look up at that, and John continues: “I’m sorry I made you feel uncomfortable by bringing up the idea of children. That wasn’t my intention, and I know that hurt you.”

You nod slightly at that, and figure now it’s your turn. “I’m sorry too; I never meant to make you feel like I’m ashamed of you. Far from it - I’m so immensely proud of you and your accomplishments already.” 

“Then why are you so hellbent on me not meeting your family? You won’t tell me, and I really don’t know what to think anymore.” There’s a slight pleading note in his voice; John sounds as though he’s at the end of his rope, and you know you need to tell him the truth. You move closer so you’re standing in front of John, and you can see that his eyes are as red as you’re sure yours are, most likely from a mixture of tears and lack of sleep as well. You take his hand in yours, and he just stands there silently. “I’m sorry I haven’t told you before now, but it’s not a good situation, and I didn’t want to put that on you or make you feel bad.”

His eyes widen a little at that, and you hurry to reassure him. “Not because of you! Believe me, it could never be because of you. My parents love you; or at least they love what I’ve told them about you.” John just looks a bit confused now, so you continue: “...the problem is me.”

You have no idea how John somehow manages to wordlessly convey a complete spectrum of emotions on his face as you lead him over to the sofa to have a seat while you tell him the whole story about why you’ve been avoiding him having contact with them. The ugly truth comes out; how all the hurt and anger that you had thought you’d gotten over when you moved away has come back with a vengeance, how you didn’t want to subject John to having to watch your mother passive-aggressively tearing you down in front of him, and you especially don’t want him to have to hear her jibes about your sexuality, because her comments about you will indirectly be insulting him too. By the end of your story, you’re in tears again (you blame the lack of sleep for making you more emotional than usual), and you let John hold you close while you finally release all the pent-up emotion you’ve been holding onto these past few years. 

When your emotions have settled down enough, you pull away to sit beside him again and apologize for the complete breakdown and soiling John’s shirt, but John just rubs your back and reassures you that you’re more important to him than any item of clothing. He’s very sympathetic to your situation with your parents, and says that although he would still love to meet them, he won’t push about visiting anymore. You’re incredibly grateful for this and almost ready to just collapse from the relief, but you need to address the other issue before you can fully relax. There’s no real organic way to bring it up from where you’re just sitting in silence together, holding onto each other on the sofa, but it has to be discussed. You clear your throat before speaking up, your voice still slightly rough from crying. “So... kids.”

“Hmm?” John appears to have been lost in thought for a moment and doesn’t fully register the question. 

“Kids. Us. We probably should have talked about this.”

“Mm. Yeah.”

“...why didn’t we?”

“I suppose neither of us was thinking that far ahead at the time.” There’s a slightly wry tone to his voice.

“Well, given yesterday’s... heated discussion, we probably should be. Especially now that you’ve tipped your hand, Deaky.” You tilt your head to face him, giving him a slightly watery (but still smug) smirk. 

Even in the low light of the single lamp that’s on, you can tell how red John gets at that statement. “Yes, well, I...” he’s stammering now, trying to save face he lost the moment he revealed he was thinking more long-term about your relationship. 

“Oh hush, now. I think it’s incredibly sweet of you, wanting to spend the rest of our lives together.” You offer him a genuine smile, before getting more serious again. “But without getting sidetracked, if we are thinking that far ahead, we really should talk about this.”

John nods. “I know. And I can’t tell you how sorry I am for what I said to hurt you. But tell me, is the idea of having children with me really that repulsive?”

You want to roll your eyes at the extreme he’s gone to, but you also know that you’ve never fully discussed how upsetting the idea of sex and pregnancy are to you. “It’s not about the idea of children with you, Deaks; it’s the idea of children in general. You know I’m the oldest of six kids - I have literally heard every pregnancy horror story possible.” You look away for a moment, shuddering. “The things it does to your body, the things you go through when you’re pregnant, it terrifies me. Hell, the things you go through _after_ you’ve been pregnant. There’s no real positive side to the pregnancy process, and I don’t know that I can go through that.” Looking over, you can see that John’s watching you with rapt attention as he rubs a hand absently over your back. “And that’s besides the fact that sex altogether upsets me. I like the idea of sex, same as you do, for that image of intimacy. I love the idea of being that close with someone and sharing that with them. But when it comes down to trying to do that in real life... I freeze. I tense up, and my brain just won’t have any of it. Any time I’ve tried, it’s just upset me so much I end up crying and breaking down and ruining any nice evening I’ve had. So I decided I was better off not trying anymore, and saving everyone some pain.”

John opens his mouth slightly, but you gently cut him off: “And I know what you’re thinking; that maybe it’ll be different with us. And maybe it would be. I’ve never tried sex with another ace, so who knows?” You wrap your arms around yourself like you’re trying to prevent a chill. “Hell, I know you won’t like hearing it, but both of the boys I went out with before you said the same thing as well: ‘maybe it’ll be different this time’. But all I can think is, _‘what if it isn’t? What if it just proves beyond belief that it doesn’t matter if you’re also ace and will actually care more about my wellbeing than they did? What if I still can’t do it?’_ And I can’t do that to you, John. I know it’d upset you, and it’d definitely upset me.”

John wraps an arm around you from behind when you finish your speech, and just holds you for a minute before speaking up: “I had no idea you felt that way, love. Why didn’t you tell me? I never would have brought up the subject yesterday if I’d known.”

You let out a weak laugh. “Just never came up, really. We talked about boundaries early on, but I figured there wasn’t more that needed to be said than ‘I’m not comfortable with sex’, and you never asked for more physical things from me that would have caused me to need to explain. Up til now, I really hadn’t thought about it, honestly. I should have said something in the first place; maybe we could have avoided half of this mess.” 

“Possibly.” John pulls you closer and is now resting his chin on your shoulder from where he’s sitting behind you. “How about this, then? We’ll table that for now, and maybe in a few years we can reconsider? When we’re actually married and seriously thinking of children as a possibility, rather than the far off nebulous concept they are at the moment.”

You consider that for a moment before nodding. “I agree. It’s something we should have brought up in the first place, but now that we have, it’s best left for when we’re in a better position to think about that.”

“Good. I’m glad we’re in agreement.” John threads his fingers through yours where both of your pairs of hands rest on your stomach, and you can feel the deep yawn he makes as he’s pressed up close behind you. You try and fail to stifle your own yawn, the stress-induced adrenaline wearing off and exhaustion setting in. You lean back further onto John, feeling him sag back onto the sofa as well. Given how tired he seems, and how tired you know you are, you’re reasonably certain that neither of you wants to make the effort to leave the sofa to move to the bed tonight. Reaching up blindly, you sit up a bit so you can grab the blanket that he normally has folded on the back of the sofa and pull it down, haphazardly doing your best to cover you both. John helps you out a bit (mostly to get his legs covered), then rolls over so that when you lay back down he’s lying beside you, face buried in your hair as he wraps his arm around your waist.

Both of you are clearly exhausted and you know neither you nor John will be awake for long, and you almost miss the soft words being spoken behind you: “I’m glad you came back, love. It wasn’t the same without you being around.”

You hum contentedly and lift up the arm that’s wrapped around you to press a kiss on the back of his hand. You can deal with the issue of your family later; right now you just need sleep. You drift off feeling utterly safe and loved, letting the gentle rhythm of the rise and fall of John’s chest as he breathes lull you into a pleasant sleep. There’s still a little tension left (as you’re sure John has too), but you’re definitely feeling a lot better than you were earlier. And right now, you’re just happy to not be alone again.

——

In the months following, John keeps his word and doesn’t ask about visiting your parents anymore, although he does make certain to let you know that he sends his regards when you go or if you call. (You had been telling them that anyway, but it’s nice having it come from him directly this time and not having him give you unhappy looks on your way out.) Your parents still ask about John, although your father has also been steadily increasing the amount of jokes he makes about John just being a figment of your imagination. You dutifully roll your eyes and groan at every terrible pun he makes, and make sure you deflect as much as possible if any serious questions arise.

Meanwhile, you and John have made the decision to move in together, so you’ve had to avoid the next scheduled visit out to see your family anyway while you spend time sorting all of that out. Even without having a lot of possessions, packing and tidying takes far too long, as well as saying goodbye to the cats and Evie, which breaks your heart to leave them behind. You’re excited to move in with John though; it means things are moving forward. Freddie, Roger and Brian don’t seem surprised when you tell them about moving in; Roger just frowns and says he thought you already had moved in with John months ago and were just waiting out the lease. (Technically he’s not wrong, but you still get a bit of a laugh out of that.) Settling into a routine together is easier than you thought it would be; you and John are already so used to living out of each other’s pockets that it’s really just a matter of finding some space for your extra belongings that you hadn’t already been keeping at his flat. John does have to stop you from opening some of his windows out of reflex, though. 

For all that your life is moving forward with John, surprisingly it seems to come to a bit of a standstill with your parents - comments about you/your life seem to dwindle, and you’re currently feeling an odd sense of security that you don’t fully trust but have no way of knowing what might happen to disrupt that. Given this odd peace, you decide to revisit the idea of bringing John to meet your family. You can’t put it off forever, and if you do want to get married in the future, he really should meet your parents. You bring it up to him after a concert one night; telling him that your family is celebrating a couple of your brother’s birthdays in one go the following week, and you ask if he’d be able to attend. John’s face lights up at this, and he happily confirms that he’d love to come with you. You call up your parents the next morning when John is in class to let them know that he’s able to visit, to which your mother sounds so overjoyed that you have to move the receiver away from your ear.

You’re excited for the visit, but still a little tense; you’ve told John about what your family can be like (generally loud and rambunctious), as well as their opinions, but it’s not the same hearing this kind of news secondhand versus seeing it for yourself. The week flies by, and soon you and John are off to see your parents. You’ve confessed how nervous you are for this, but John just squeezes your hand gently and reassures you that he’ll be right there with you. 

——

Sooner than you expect, you arrive at your parents' house. You can feel your tension rising again, though you try to tamp it down as best you can. “Is it too late to get back in the car and leave?” you mutter under your breath as you approach the front door, and John chuckles. “I’m sure it’ll be fine. Besides, you know I’m here with you.”

“Being on my own isn’t what I’m afraid of.” You frown a little, but immediately wipe it off your face the moment the door opens and your mother is welcoming you both inside. As expected, she’s immediately hounding John with questions, as are your brothers; the older ones want to know what it’s like, being in a band, and the younger ones are going back and forth between asking him what sorts of things John has built and/or dismantled for school and simply marvelling at the length of his hair. The youngest actually approaches John to ask directly if he can touch it, to which you’re attempting (badly) to hide your amusement, your mother looks affronted and is attempting to shoo the child away, and John just laughs and crouches down to let your brother have a feel.

Conversation is mostly kept to surface topics, and at one point, you even spot your father actively engaging in conversation with John, which is a feat in and of itself given how introverted he usually gets when there’s company over for a visit. You’re mentally crossing your fingers - so far so good!

And then of course, you’re proven wrong. Your mother asks about how you and John met, and you give the usual “through a friend and we just really hit it off from there” answer that tends to satisfy people. Your mother is beaming at the two of you where you’re sitting together at the table. “I’m just so happy for my little girl! She kept on talking all this nonsense about being asexual, but of course she’s here with you, so I’m glad to see she’s gotten over that silly phase.”

Oh God. This is exactly what you were afraid would happen. You’re having a hard time meeting anyone’s eyes right now, and you can tell your face is going red. Normally you’d be able to handle this better, but with John bearing witness to this, you just want to curl up and die right where you sit. “Mum, _please_ ,” you plead through gritted teeth. 

Oblivious (or simply ignoring you), your mother continues: “I’m glad she has someone like you in her life to set her straight, John. Honestly, studying History and thinking that she could possibly be asexual; she needs someone like you to be a good influence and ground her in the real world.”

All the hurt is coming right back at your mother’s words, especially because she’s so blatantly belittling you in front of John. Does she really think so terribly of you? You can feel tears pricking at the corners of your eyes and you blink rapidly, trying to banish them away. You won’t allow your mother the satisfaction of knowing just how upset you are. Just then, you feel a gentle grasp on your hand as John sighs quietly before he responds. “I agree; the real world can be very distressing and I’m happy to help out wherever I can. After all, it’s not easy to find someone who identifies the way we do.”

Your head flies up (as do your eyebrows) and you stare at John in shock. _Did he just...?_ Then he continues speaking, and you can swear you feel your heart stop. Out of the corner of your eye you can see your mother staring as well. “There’s a sad and widespread misunderstanding of what we are. Just people in love, to be honest; not _much_ different from other couples, right?” He turns to you as he finishes his statement and you nod, too shocked to say anything else. He hasn’t even told the band yet, but he outed himself to your mother to stand in solidarity with you. You don’t think you’ve ever loved him more, and you think you can feel tears coming back for a different reason. 

Then you look over at your mother, and the tension comes back. She’s just looking at John now with an unreadable expression. “Oh. I see. Are you...” She shakes her head and looks away from where John is still watching her calmly. “Are you one of _them_ too?”

There’s a certain poetic irony in watching your mother have difficulty saying the name now that she’s lost her supposed ally. For his part, John just offers a polite closed mouth smile in response, letting his silence speak for itself. Then he turns to you and squeezes your hand again, and you can’t help but smile back at him and press a kiss to his cheek. Like it or not, it appears he’s just drawn a metaphorical line in the sand, and now your parents need to decide where they stand.

——

Sadly, your parents make their decision not long after that. You’ve gone over to have a general visit as well as help out with something for your second brother’s uni application. John’s driving you over but not able to attend with you this time, and when you tell your mother that he won’t be coming, you’re sure you can hear a note of relief in her voice. You don’t want to say that that makes you suspicious, but it does make you wonder. All through the drive there, you keep mentally replaying what your mother said, but aren’t sure if you actually picked up on a tone in her voice, or if you’re just overthinking things.

The visit goes reasonably well; normal conversation, joking with your brothers... the usual. Then after dinner, your mother tells you that she and your father need to speak to you about something. You’re a bit apprehensive now, because every time parents say “we need to speak to you” it’s never usually good (in any context, not just your own family). You have a seat in the sitting room while you wait for them to finish clearing up and send your brothers away to their rooms, and find yourself repeatedly checking your watch, starting a mental countdown until the time John is coming by to pick you up.

After a few minutes, your parents both enter the room and sit across from you. You can see that your mother is holding something, and you’re curious as to what it could be. They both look tense, so you decide to break the silence and speak first. “So, uh, what’s all this about then?”

Your parents exchange glances, then your father turns back to you with a grave look on his face. “Your mother and I have been talking since your last visit with John... we don’t think he’s good for you. He’s clearly been filling your head with unhealthy ideas, and you need someone who’ll be looking at things realistically for yourself, for the future.”

You can’t believe what you’re hearing. “W-what? Just a few weeks ago, you were going on about how much you liked John! How much you liked that he was studying something _‘stable, that would have him set for the future’_!” You gesture towards your mother, who is simply watching with a pained look on her face. “You actually said he was a good influence. Those exact words!” Your voice has taken on an incredulous tone, but you’re having a hard time believing this is real. 

“Mind your tone,” your father chastises. “We only want what’s best for you. You may not be able to see it, being so close to the situation, but having had some time to think about this, we no longer think John would be able to give you the future you need.” He takes the item your mother is holding - a piece of paper? - and examines it for a moment before handing it over to you. “And while we’re on the subject of your future, we’d like you to seriously consider this.”

You turn the paper over, realizing it’s a pamphlet of some kind. When you read the title, you immediately feel a chill: Chelmsford Institution for the Disabled and Sexually Deviant. “...what is this?” you whisper, not wanting to think this is happening. Your parents can’t be suggesting this. You knew they didn’t agree with your choices, but this? This is a nightmare. 

At this point, your mother speaks up. “We thought you would get over this idea of yours; being... asexual.” She chokes it out like it’s something dirty, something to not be brought up in polite company. “We thought you would move on and realize that it’s not realistic to think that what you feel is normal. It’s a natural part of life, and for you to think that it’s alright to not feel that is... troubling. We think you should see someone, so you can get this fixed. You could live a normal life.” Her eyes are glistening, as if this is deeply hurting her to admit that _her only daughter has a problem_ , but all it does is make you angry. 

“You want me to... _fix_ myself. To be ‘normal’. Is that it? You don’t think I’m normal?” You’re trying to hold it together so as not to risk your parents telling you that you’re being irrational again, but you are truly in a state of stunned disbelief right now. Then you have a realization: “...this is why you want me to leave John, isn’t it?” Their silence speaks volumes. “Isn’t it?” You want an answer; surely they can give you at least that small amount of dignity and admit that’s the real reason that they’ve had such a sharp reversal of their opinion of him.

Your mother starts to speak up again. “It’s just-“ A knock on the door cuts her off, and you assume that must be John himself come to pick you up. All three of you look in the direction of the door, clearly thinking the same thing. You stand, slightly crumpling the pamphlet in your hand as your fist clenches. “That’ll be John picking me up. No need to see me out - I’ll save you the trouble of having to talk to someone who’s such a bad influence,” you bite out, storming out of the sitting room and quickly grabbing your coat and shoes. You can hear your father behind you telling you angrily to watch your tone and behaviour while you’re under their roof, but you ignore it in favour of getting out as soon as you can. John is a bit shocked when you open the door and quickly pull it shut behind you, but recovers quickly, seeing that you clearly just want to get away. 

He can tell you’re upset, but sensibly drives a few streets over so you’re no longer at your parents’ house before he pulls over to ask what’s wrong. As usual, John’s concern for your wellbeing as contrasted with your parents’ thoughtless behaviour is what tips you over the edge, and you’re hiding your face in your hands as you break down. You hand him the pamphlet, which has become a crumpled mess from your tightly fisted grip on it. Peeking through your fingers, you can see John’s eyes widen incredulously as he reads over the title, before he speaks. “They _actually_ gave this to you?” His voice is low and angry. You nod in confirmation, unable to say anything; when you look up properly, John is fuming. It takes a lot to make John angry, so you really know how upset he is over this. 

“They actually told you, _their own daughter_ , that you needed fixing? What a load of shite.” He’s clearly so upset on your behalf already that you almost don’t want to tell him the rest, but you know you need to. “...that’s not all they told me, John.”

——

You’ll be stuck with the mental image of John’s reaction to your parents’ ultimatum(? You’re not entirely sure if it was one, but it certainly felt like it) for the rest of your life, and that’s what hurts the most. He goes from grief to anger to sheer despair within the span of a few seconds, before he just goes very still and tilts his head back to look at the roof of the car. He looks as though the weight of the world is on his shoulders; a sight you’d hoped never to see, much less be the one to put it there. After a moment, he speaks up, voice choking up slightly. “So now what happens?”

It takes you a moment to decipher what he means, as you’re an emotional mess right now as well. Then you realize that he thinks you’re going to leave him; you definitely don’t want to go to the Institution, but some act of acquiescence might gain you a little favour with your parents, and he doesn’t want to be the one to destroy that connection to your family. “What do you mean? Deaky, I’m not leaving you.” He’s still silent and continuing to look at the roof, so you lean over the gear lever (ignoring when it digs into your leg) and wrap your arms around him. “I’m not going anywhere,” you repeat firmly, just as much to reassure yourself as him. “My parents can go fuck themselves.”

He laughs weakly at that. “...because we won’t?”

You can’t help it; that makes you giggle as you hadn’t even considered the humour of your statement. “Yes, but you know what I meant, love. I’m not leaving you. You’ve been far more supportive and understanding of what I need and want for my life than my parents, so if it’s a choice between you or them, then so be it.” You tighten your hold around him, trying to put him at ease.

John turns to face you slightly, and even in the dim evening light you can see the gleam of unshed tears in his eyes and the angry set of his jaw. “I can’t ask you to do that; to give all that up for me. They’re your family. _Even if they are being complete pricks._ ” The last part is added on as a mutter, but you still hear it.

You know John has always valued family unity, but it hurts to think that after all this time you’ve been together and after everything your parents have done, John still doesn’t see himself as important to you as them. You frown a bit. “You’re not asking, though. I’m an adult, and my parents apparently can’t see that. They think that I’m apparently so impressionable that someone _must_ have coerced me the moment I started making choices and living my life in a way that didn’t align with their views. If they’ve made their decision, then I’m making my own. And that’s to stay with you; you’re just as much my family as they are.”

There’s a moment of silence as John completely turns to face you, and the next moment, he’s completely engulfing you in a hug, holding on to you like a lifeline. You can feel his breath hitching slightly in between his litany of murmured “thank you”s and “I love you”s, and you curse inwardly, angry at your parents once again for causing him to hurt just as much as you do with their thoughtless comments. 

After a minute or two, he finally lets go and you both take a bit of time to compose yourselves so you can continue the drive back home, wanting to get back before it’s too late. Neither of you are completely fine, but right now all you can do is push through the best you can. You rest your hand on John’s leg for the entire trip back, wanting to reaffirm that you’re there and not going anywhere. 

When you finally get home, it’s a fairly quiet affair as you both get ready for bed, exhausted and emotionally drained from the day’s events. When you get into bed, there’s no time wasted before the two of you curl up close together, both of you needing to feel the other close by. You’re curled up into John’s side, leaning your head on his chest while he has one arm wrapped around you. You don’t want to continue talking about what your parents have done, but something about the sight of that damned pamphlet has really bothered you. There’s a moment of silence before you speak, and when you do it’s a bitter sound. “D’you ever wonder what it’d be like to not have to deal with that?”

You don’t want to still be this angry, but today has made it very difficult not to be, especially when faced with this kind of blatant prejudice from people you thought you could trust with your wellbeing. John frowns at you and tilts his head slightly to look you in the eyes better. “Your parents?” 

“My parents, friends... everyone. To just be ‘normal’, the way they want. To not be seen as broken.” 

John holds you closer in response as he speaks in a quiet but determined tone. “We _are_ normal, though. Just because we don’t match up to what they want doesn’t mean we’re not normal. And you’re definitely not broken, love. You could never be. _We’re_ not broken.” And if you notice that little slip of self-doubt that creeps out at the end there as John holds you close, you make no mention of it. 

——

Two weeks after the fiasco with your parents, during which you and John have been what Roger describes as _“even clingier than usual, which I didn’t think was possible”_ , John approaches you about meeting his parents. You both have a break from uni coming up, and his parents have invited you both to come up over the weekend, wanting to meet you. You’re nervous, but you know John would love to have you meet them, and he’s sure that you’ll feel welcome with them. You try to convince yourself that they can’t possibly be as bad as the situation with your own parents (and that John wouldn’t have asked if they were), but it doesn’t fully banish the anxiety you’re feeling about this visit.

As it did when you brought John to meet your family, the car ride moves along faster than you anticipate - most likely due to your nerves, and before you know it you’re sitting with John in the Deacon’s sitting room in Leicester. You can’t seem to stop fidgeting no matter how much you try, and even John sitting right beside you with a hand gently resting on your knee isn’t enough to keep you from being on edge. It also doesn’t help that they seem to know everything about you already; while you’re flattered that John has apparently talked about you so much, another part of you is just waiting for the criticisms to start. You’re trying to keep the topics light and avoid saying anything that might offend them, but they genuinely seem to take an interest in the things you do, which is a nice surprise. 

“We heard you’re studying History!” Mrs. Deacon gushes as she pours both you and John cups of tea. “That sounds rather exciting - how are you enjoying your studies so far?”

You start telling her about the different courses you’re taking and when you’ll graduate, and she responds in all the right places and sounds incredibly positive about what you’re doing. Mr. Deacon even asks a few questions as well, and you find yourself relaxing a bit. You can’t actually remember the last time you were able to open up so much about your time at uni without interjections about the concerns that went along with it (costs, practicality, career opportunities, etc). Mrs. Deacon asks about how you’re managing finances and such while you’re at school, to which you light up even more. “I’m actually currently working part-time at the Natural History museum! I’ll admit it’s tiring trying to balance both uni and work, but I love my job.” You beam proudly as they ask about what your job responsibilities entail, and really find yourself loosening up, in your element as you talk about being lucky enough to both study and get paid to work doing what you love. 

John’s mother asks about what your favourite part is about your work at the museum, and you catch a glimpse of John’s fond smile off to the side as you tell them about all the primary school groups that come in for tours and some of the ridiculous and endearing questions they say and ask, ranging from: trying to convince you that Alexander the Great’s last name was indeed “The Great”, why did people start a War of the Roses - “did they prefer daffodils instead?”, and whether Joan of Arc was actually the Biblical Noah’s wife. You’re having a good laugh remembering all of these ridiculous anecdotes, and you can feel John putting his arm over the back of your chair as he laughs as well. It’s not enough to actually be wrapped around you, but enough that you can feel his arm behind you, feeling the comfort of him being right there. You haven’t felt this at ease in a family setting for a while and you want to bottle up this feeling and save it forever.

When the laughter dies down, you see John’s father looking over the two of you sitting together. He rather looks like he’s studying you both, but it doesn’t feel as uncomfortable as you expected. You aren’t sure what you expected to hear him say next, but it certainly wasn’t this: “John, have you told this young lady about your _ways_?”

John’s mother nods in agreement as they both look at you now. John’s father seems slightly uncomfortable with bringing up the subject, and that puts you back on edge again. You’re mentally preparing to weather another storm of hurtful comments; however, a quick glance over at John doesn’t allow you a chance to stay too tense as he doesn’t appear overly concerned. He has a small smile on his face as he looks at his parents which soon turns into a beaming grin as he actually wraps his arm around you while nodding at his mother. “Yes, of course! And actually, we’re _both_ aces, mum!”

“Oh really?” She sets down her tea and exchanges a look with John’s father, her expression revealing nothing to you. This is it - the storm you’ve been dreading. You’re so caught up in your mental image of being literally thrown out of the house that you almost miss her turning back to you and John with a bright smile on her face. “That’s wonderful!” She gently reaches over and places her hand on top of John’s where it’s resting on his knee before leaning over to pat your hand as well. “This is so wonderful, love! Do tell us; how did you meet?” A glance over at John’s father reveals that he’s smiling too, and he seems pleased to see how happy John looks as he tells his parents about how you met and started dating. 

You’re sure you must be gaping by now, completely unused to this kind of positive reception to the news of your sexuality. It turns out that his parents mostly looked uncomfortable earlier because of the name; they accept what John is, but it’s easier for them to process it just by thinking of it in terms of “he’s just not interested” versus the actual label itself. Honestly, you’re just happy that they’re so much more understanding about how the two of you are and accept that while it may not be what a lot of people consider ‘normal’, this is your own version of normalcy. They’re just happy to know that John has found someone who understands him, to which you tell them that you feel the same way. 

Overall, the visit goes incredibly well, and sooner than expected it’s time for you to head back home, though not before John’s mother draws you into a warm embrace, declaring that you simply must visit more often, John’s father seconding this from where he’s standing beside her. Your ride home is pleasant; you and John chatting about the afternoon and potential other times in future that the two of you could visit. When you arrive back at the flat, you stop John before he can get out of the car. This afternoon has left you feeling more hope about your future together with John than you have in a while, and you need to make sure he knows that. “Yes, love?”

You have no words to convey the amount of gratitude you have for him and his support of you no matter what, both with your family and his. You lean in and kiss John, knowing he’ll understand exactly what you mean. He smiles as you pull away, pressing a kiss of his own to your forehead. You exit the car and immediately link your hands together with his as you walk inside, feeling lighter than you have in ages. At this point, you don’t even care what your parents think of the two of you together anymore - you’ve got all the love and support you need right here.

**Author's Note:**

> HOO BOY DID I CATHART HARD WITH THIS ONE. On the plus side, the next part is planned on being 95% fluff, so hopefully that makes up for this?
> 
> Also, the Chelmsford Institution is a completely fictitious place, although there were people who were actually sent to psychiatric hospitals (or voluntarily admitting themselves) to "straighten" themselves out, as it were. It's incredibly sad.
> 
> \--
> 
> I'm also @smittyjaws on Tumblr, if you want to hit up my dumpster fire of a blog!


End file.
